


skies of powdered gold

by casfallsinlove



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Captain Dean Winchester, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Runaway Castiel, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 23:53:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5110091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casfallsinlove/pseuds/casfallsinlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester went from lone space explorer, joyriding through the stars, to captain of the Impala: a hand-built scavenging ship home to the best crew this side of the universe. He and his crew own their little slice of galaxy. They scavenge, they sell, it’s comfortable. Until Hannah asks if they can take in her homeless friend Castiel, another rebel Seraph, and Dean ends up saying yes - to a little more than he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	skies of powdered gold

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I finally get to put this thing out in the real world, yikes!!!
> 
> I have a lot of people I have to thank for getting me to this point. Firstly twitter squad, for being the best support system I could ask for and listening to me whine and complain for months.
> 
> Secondly to Claire, Nicole, Mara, Anna and Bexy for their help with betaing this thing. I love you all so much. 
> 
> And lastly to my amazing artist [allovely](http://allovely.tumblr.com) who has been beyond patient with me from the start and has created some beautiful art to accompany this fic. 
> 
> [(art masterpost)](http://http://allovelyart.tumblr.com/post/132221840008) | [(tumblr masterpost)](http://casfallsinlove.tumblr.com/post/132232738763)

 

+

 

It’s a well-known fact that Captain Dean Winchester has the best goddamn spaceship this side of the universe. The Impala is a thing of beauty, spacious and sleek with engines that practically _purr_ and built from scratch by Dean himself with the restored parts from scrapped ships. She might not be as fancy and modern as others, but she sure is more reliable. She’s saved Dean’s neck a thousand times with her faultless defense system and smarter than average AI, especially in his reckless youth.

Trouble is, everyone wants a piece of her these days.

“For the last time, Hannah, I said _no_.”

Hannah stares at him, then thrusts a foil-wrapped sandwich into his hands. Dean narrows his eyes. “You can’t bribe me with food,” he says, even as he rips into it.

“Please, Dean, I grew up with Castiel. I can vouch for him.”

Dean gestures around them. The ship is inconveniently quiet at the moment, most of the crew gone to bed, but Dean’s argument still stands when he points out, “Where are we supposed to put him, huh? We don’t have the onboard capacity for any more strays.”

“We’ll think of something.” She sighs. “He needs our help, he’s got no one else.”

Back when Dean was a lone space ranger joyriding through the stars, he hadn’t given a flying fuck about a single other person apart from Sam, who was off nerding it up at the Academy anyway. Now Dean’s thirty Earth years old and got a great big goddamn bleeding heart, apparently.

“Why should I?” he asks around a mouthful of cheese and meatball sub. “Last thing we need is another Seraph.”

The remark earns him a probably deserved smack on the arm, but it’s true. Hannah’s smart and tactical and sharp as a whip. She’s tempestuous and judgmental and completely ignorant to all of Dean’s pop culture references—but she’s more human than most Seraphs, who are robotic and drone-like at best. In fact, Dean’s _met_ drones with more personality. Eden is a military planet, and Seraphs are born to be soldiers.

“Castiel’s not like that,” Hannah insists. Dean doesn’t believe her for a second. “He’s a rebel, and besides that he’s my friend, Dean, and he was talking about heading to Slum.”

Ah, Jesus. Slum is where the desperate people go. No matter your species or situation, you’ll be given shelter and care on Slum. Supposedly. It’s only a tiny planet, grubby and crisscrossed with heaving, filthy streets. The so-called shelters are so filthy and overcrowded most people don’t even bother with them. There are medical shacks run by Healing Hands volunteer nurses that are constantly under-stocked, with soup kitchens working 24/7. It makes Dean feel ill just being there, and he wouldn’t subject anyone to it if they had another option.

Besides which, a Seraph would definitely not be welcome there, dissenter or no. Eden’s universally hated for being cruel and unforgiving, provoking other planets and leaders and generally disrupting the peace.

Although, the fact that some of their own are deserting their posts could mean that change is on the horizon. Dean has a fleeting, wild desire to see the system of oppression brought to its knees. Hannah had left more out of curiosity than outright revolution, but that didn’t mean they weren’t constantly on the watch for Seraphs out to bring her home for the first few months.

“All right, fine. He’s got two days to get his sorry ass to the Roadhouse. If he’s not there, I ain’t waitin’.”

Hannah beams and kisses his cheek. “Thanks, Cap.”

Fuckin’ softy, seriously.

 

 

 

Besides having the best ship, Dean also has the best crew. Benny’s been with him the longest, six or so years now, after Dean helped him out of a tight spot at an intergalactic ping pong tournament. He’s a Vamp, usually notorious for their tempers, but Benny’s the biggest teddy bear Dean’s ever known.

Then there’s Charlie, the kid sister Dean never wanted, who taught him how to bootleg the Earth music he loves so much and integrate it into the Impala’s sound system. They first met at some dive bar in the kind of city you go to just to find trouble. Neither of them had been in a great place—Charlie had just lost her mother, Dean his dad—yet somehow, after a night of drinking each other under the table, she’d staggered back to the Impala with Dean and hasn’t left his side since.

Hannah he picked up a year or so ago, after she took down the motherfucker trying to start a fight with Charlie at an auction. She was still working for the Seraphs at the time, but fully embraced her inner rebellious streak after a few drinks and a glimpse at the Impala, and ran away with them without a second thought.

Kevin and Donna are the only people who _aren’t_ strays. He needed a couple of real experts, so he hired both of them upon Bobby’s recommendation. The Impala is a scavenger ship, that’s how they make money; Dean finds things and sells them again. It used to be entirely mechanical stuff, things that made sense to him, but they’ve recently branched out into antiques and, on one memorable occasion, livestock. (Never again, though; Dean’s still finding feathers and scales where he shouldn’t be.)

So yeah, Dean’s a lucky son of a bitch. His crewmates are his family and he couldn’t wish for better. But it _does_ mean that every cabin on the ship is full, so God only knows where this Castiel dude is gonna sleep.

Dean huffs, scrubs a hand over his face, and heads to the control room. They’re changing course.

Ellen greets him with a tight hug and a glass of Earth-imported whiskey.

“Ellen, I love you,” Dean says with feeling, and swallows the drink in one mouthful. “Gimme more.”

“And let you fly that monstrosity over the limit?” she snorts. “I don’t think so, kiddo. It’s beer or water; what’re you havin’?”

Dean begrudgingly takes a beer and wanders off to find his crew, who have already dispersed in the crowd. Charlie and Benny are laughing and hip-checking each other out of the way in front of the soundbox, and Kevin seems to be making friends with a woman at the bar, pretty successfully if the pink tinge to her pale blue skin is anything to go by. Over at a small table, Donna and Hannah are with—oh.  

Castiel is pretty distinguishable as a Seraph. Even if Dean couldn’t see those distinctive baby blues, he’d be able to tell simply from the guy’s stiff posture; his spine is rigid and his arms awkward as fuck hanging by his sides. He’s wearing ratty clothes, cargo pants and a weird undershirt-shirt-hoodie combination. He actually does look pretty down and out, and a whole lot of pathetic. It warms Dean’s frosty reluctance slightly and he doubles back to the bar to get another three beers.

“Castiel, this is Dean, our captain,” Hannah provides when Dean clunks the bottles onto the table, and Castiel shoots to his feet like a startled rabbit. He grabs for Dean’s hand, squeezing it tightly.

“I owe you a great debt.”

Dean laughs awkwardly. “Save it, man, we’re cool. What’s another stray, huh?”

Castiel persists, earnest, “Well, this stray is incredibly grateful.”

Dean figures he won’t be saying that when he sees where he’s gotta sleep, on the crappy old pullout in Dean’s quarters. He’s not all that happy about it either, if he’s honest, but it was that or let the guy crash on the floor of Kevin’s room, and Dean’s not a complete monster.

Charlie and Benny come back with armfuls of food--thank God for Ellen’s cooking--and after introductions have been made Charlie insists on piling Castiel’s plate higher than everyone else’s. Castiel looks overwhelmed by the sheer amount of food on the table in front of him but he eats like he hasn’t in days, which could be true for all Dean knows.

The conversation revolves mostly around embarrassing stories that always seem to focus on Dean’s humiliation, but he takes it on the chin because yeah, okay, that time Charlie found him handcuffed to his bed completely naked was pretty funny after she’d stopped yelling at him, and the memories of the night that led to that moment are _definitely_ not something Dean regrets. Rhonda Hurley was a firecracker and Dean’s still got the pink satin panties to prove it.

Anyway, he manages to get his revenge. He tells Castiel about the occasion Benny was knocked flat on his face by a Xasmatunian imp one time--a docile creature that’s basically a cross between a chicken and a meerkat that roams free on the planet Xasmatune, where they were picking through a metal junkyard--and how Benny’s arm was in a plaster cast for weeks. Then there was the time Charlie fell off her chair chatting up a chick, and Kevin accidentally sent a link to his online dating profile to all their comms.

Castiel, a little awkwardly, tells them about the time his pants ripped while he was combat-training and he looks pleased when they all laugh.

They spend a few hours at the Roadhouse, just drinking and shooting the shit. It’s been a while since Dean’s given the crew some real down time and he feels bad now, looking at them all laughing and enjoying themselves. Kevin comes back from the bar all giddy and dazed, purple lipstick smudged on his cheek and a comm number scrawled on the back of his hand. Hannah and Charlie are dancing--well, Hannah’s movements are a little too stiff to be called dancing but Charlie’s hands are on her hips guiding her while they laugh, and one day Dean’s gonna find out what’s going on there. Benny and Donna are playfully arguing about which of them is the better cook, and Castiel is just kind of… watching everyone. Staring, but in this politely bemused sort of way like he’s just trying to take everything in. Dean takes pity on him.

“I need some fresh air,” he says. “Cas, you comin’?”

“Yes,” Castiel sounds relieved and he slides hastily out of the booth, following Dean through the crowd and out into the cool, quiet darkness.

“You doing okay, dude?” Dean asks, sitting on the low wall that looks out over the landing lot. The shuttle they use to get to and from the Impala, about the size of the Earth cars Dean loves so much, sits there softly vibrating on standby. A hundred feet above them, the Impala itself gleams amongst the stars. “Can’t imagine the last few days have been easy for you.”

“Try the last few years,” Castiel sighs. He takes a swig of his beer, draining the bottle. “I’ve been shown more kindness tonight from complete strangers than I ever have from my family. Excepting Hannah, of course.”

Dean pushes at a loose patch of gravel with the toe of his boot. “No offence, man, but Seraphs are kind of dicks that way.”

“Yes.” Cas huffs a bitter laugh. “But it wasn’t until I really looked around at you and your friends in there that I realized there’s more than one type of family.”

He’s right and goddamn it, does Dean love them. “Yeah, we’re a little ragtag but we get by all right.”

“I...” Cas trails off, looks down at his feet. “I would like to try and earn my place in it.”

Dean slaps him on the shoulder. “You already have, Cas. Welcome on board.”

By the time they’re back inside the Impala, the galaxy has turned from pitch black to the inky purple-green of dawn. Most of his crew slink off to their cabins, sore-headed and dead on their feet. Benny volunteers to take the controls for a few hours, so Dean tugs Castiel by the sleeve down the winding hallways to his captain’s quarters.

Cas spends the whole time gazing around in wide-eyed astonishment, running his fingers over the smooth metal walls and then, once in Dean’s room, touching everything with a quiet kind of reverence. It makes Dean feel weird, to see his scant and tatty belongings treated like they’re gold dust.

“Okay, so this is all yours,” he explains. He points to the pile of sheets on top of the couch, which he’d already unfolded with no small amount of swearing and bleeding fingers. His room isn’t huge; he’s got a double bed, the couch, his closet and dresser, and a small desk he moved against the wall. That’s it. Dean has never been particularly materialistic—it’s why he’s so good at his job. He has no desire to keep anything he scavenges. His few possessions are more personal; an old photograph of his mom is propped up on his nightstand, a wrinkled poster of Indiana Jones is tacked to the wall, a small pile of books sits on top of his dresser, the first laser-shooter Bobby ever gave him and the M1911 Earth-gun his Dad got him when he turned sixteen are mounted over his bed.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says, and the look of unabashed gratitude in those electric blue eyes leaves Dean uncomfortably flustered.

“Um, bathroom’s through there,” he points to the door next to the closet, “I’ll probably whip up breakfast around ten but you can sleep in if you want. Everyone else probably will. And, uh, sorry about the pullout, I know it’s crappy—”

“It’s perfect,” Cas interrupts. “Although... the only clothes I have are the ones I’m wearing, and they’re dirtier than I’d like. Now that I’ve been cut off I have to preserve the powers I have left, and using them for laundry seemed rather pointless.”

“Oh, right, here let me just—” Dean rummages through his dresser, emerging with some flannel pajama pants and a plain gray t-shirt. “There's a chore rota in the laundry room, actually, we’ll have to add your name to it. Uh, help yourself to anything you wanna wear in the morning, mi casa es su casa, what’s mine is yours, et cetera.” Cas opens his mouth, but Dean plows on, “Don’t you dare say thank you again. It’s not a problem. Now I’ll just... leave you to it. Towels and stuff are in the bathroom.”

He slips out of the room before he has to see Cas get undressed and heads to the control room, sinking into the chair next to Benny with a groan. Charlie’s there too, curled up in her pajamas with hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. She and Benny are laughing about something, but they stop when they see the expression on Dean’s face.

“I’ve gotta spend the foreseeable future sharing a living space with a dude,” he grumbles half-heartedly. “A hot dude.”

“You gonna be able to handle that?” Benny asks, eyebrows raised.

Charlie giggles.

“Dean, you know this is dangerous ground, right? Where’s he gonna go when you make a move on him and it all blows up in your face?”

“What—I’m not—no one is making a move on anyone!” He rubs his hands over his face. “It’s not like I’m into him or anything, okay? We _just_ met the guy. I just, totally _objectively_ , can recognize that he’s attractive. That’s all.”

Benny and Charlie don’t really look like they believe him. Dean focuses intently on the navigation panel. “Set the coordinates for Vruoq. A little birdie told me there were some antiques we might be able to get our hands on.”

“Yes, captain.” Benny mock-salutes, but it takes the familiar rumble of the Impala’s engines coming to life for Dean to finally relax.

 

 

 

Vruoq is a rich planet. It’s in the distant corner of the nebula and is one of the most diverse worlds; it’s full of inhabitants who moved there from other home planets in order to get a taste of that crazy VIP lifestyle. Dean doesn’t get it at all. It’s snobbish, pretentious, extravagant to the point of ostentatiousness, and full of people who probably eat gold for breakfast.

On the first day of their journey, Cas asks what they’re going to do when they get there, which leads to Dean trying to brief him on how exactly they make money. “So sometimes we just scavenge trash, y’know, junk yard stuff. I’m pretty good at, uh, building things? Doing stuff with my hands?”

“He’s amazing,” Donna intercedes. She’d only come into the kitchen area for a glass of juice, but she’s inexplicably still here twenty minutes later, sitting next to Cas--who’s still wearing Dean’s pajamas--and embellishing everything Dean says with her own personal anecdotes. “For my birthday last year he made me this tiny model solar system out of glass and metal and these little cogs that make the planets orbit each other. It’s so cool.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Dean continues, “sometimes we do that, or we find old junker ships and tow ’em to my Uncle Bobby’s place--he lives on Sioux and he’s got a workshop he lets us use. So we fix ’em up, sell ’em on. But a couple of years ago we started doing auctions, too. Buying stuff on the cheap, maybe restoring it if it needs it, then selling it to the right buyers. That’s what we’re doing on Vruoq.”

“We should be careful there.” Cas frowns. “I’ve heard about that planet, what its people are like. You can’t trust anyone when they’re just out for themselves.”

“Dude, not my first time,” Dean snorts, but he appreciates having Cas there to potentially watch his back.

“Sometimes we do it for individual clients as well,” Donna adds, “Someone asks us to find them something, we look all over the galaxy ‘til we got it.”

“Yeah, ’cept… that doesn’t always work out so well.” Dean winces and tries not to think about Crowley, King of Helletopia and double-crossing pain in the ass.

Cas doesn’t look confused or judgmental despite the onslaught of information, which is good. Dean would hate to have to drop him because he couldn’t hack it. Instead he nods like he’s reached some sort of decision.

“I have an interest in history. When I was a child I used to read an encyclopedia of the universe before bed. So, I might be able to assist you with antique items?”

“That’s great, man. Seriously.”

With one arm, Donna wraps Cas in a hug. “Ooh, we’re going to have so much fun.”

 

 

 

Dean can’t sleep. And it’s not because of nightmares or anxiety, it’s because there’s a goddamn Seraph quietly reciting the infinite digits of pi under his breath across the room.

“Cas,” he grits out, “can you shut the hell up?”

There’s a rustle of blankets. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just. Seraphs don’t really need to sleep.”

Rolling over to frown in Cas’s general direction through the darkness, Dean accuses, “You filthy liar, when I came in last night you were snoring like a freight ship.”

“Yes. Well. Occasionally I can if my body is particularly exhausted, but that usually keeps me going for about a month or two.”

“But you rest, right?” Dean has no idea about any of this stuff. Hannah cut herself off from Eden when she deserted her post and that came with tearing out her grace, so she’s always behaved like a human when it comes to sleeping and eating. Cas is currently a weird amalgamation of human and Seraph. Who apparently only needs to sleep once every two months. Who knew.

“Of course, I’m not infallible.” Cas sighs. “At the moment, my powers are still there, but they won’t… replenish themselves, so to speak. What I have is _all_ I have.”

“And what happens when they, y’know, run out?”

The shitty springs in the pullout creak under Cas’s weight. “I’ll be human.”

“Oh,” Dean says, intelligently. Then, “Sorry.”

“Why? It’s not your fault.”

He huffs a laugh. “I dunno, that’s kinda just what people say.”

A quiet minute passes, where they’re both awake and staring at the ceiling and listening to each other breathe. Then Cas says, “It doesn’t make much sense to apologize for things that aren’t your responsibility,” and it breaks some of the weird tension that had been building.

“There’s a lot about humans that don’t make much sense,” Dean tells him. “Like, whoever thought nuclear bombs were a good idea, huh? And I mean... there are people still down there on Earth, who would rather keep on keepin' on than come into space. It's _space_. What the fuck. Why wouldn’t you wanna be up here? I left Earth with my brother as soon as I turned eighteen. We hitched a ride to Sioux to stay with our Uncle Bobby and never looked back.”

It was that or let Sam go into the system. The only thing their dad was ever good for was his retired army pay, and once he died and that went with him Dean knew he couldn’t afford to look after Sam on his own. He had a friend who knew a guy who was heading out to Mars for a routine delivery, and Dean persuaded him to take them with him. From Mars they hitchhiked to Begrion, where they stowed away onboard a cruise ship that stopped on Sioux. Then they walked.

It’s not a time in his life that Dean’s particularly fond of remembering, but the look on Bobby’s face when they knocked on his door, dirty and hungry and exhausted, and getting a bedroom that he could call his own for the first time in his life, had made it all worthwhile.

Cas hums thoughtfully. "Most of my kind never leave Eden. Occasionally we might, for trade or negotiation purposes, but we're soldiers. We spend our lives preparing for battles that never come. We train, and we learn."

"But not you?"

"No, I--I've always wanted to learn the wrong things. Things I shouldn't be thinking about." He sounds sort of proud of himself.

"Like what?" Dean asks.

"Like... There's a planet, Flos, and it's just covered in flowers. Every inch of it. Rolling hills and sweeping fields and so many colors, more than the human eye can even translate, way beyond the spectrum of visible light. It's not inhabited, but I've always wondered how beautiful it must look when its sun rises."

Dean knows of Flos. It’s not somewhere he’s ever visited because it’s never been worth his time, but he can easily imagine how nice it could be. "That doesn't seem all that rebellious to me."

Cas, voice a little more sure now, says, "No, because you grew up with free will. For me, wanting to leave, to see all the beautiful things I was missing, that was practically treason. It was… lonely, to say the least. To be amongst family who would look scornfully on me like I was something alien, something _broken_.”

“Fuck.” Dean climbs out of bed and pads across to the pullout. He can just make out Cas’s face in the darkness, those blue eyes blinking up at him in surprise. “Look, man. You can’t believe that. Families--families _suck_. My dad? When he found me with my tongue down the throat of Donnie the bartender, he dragged me home and demanded to know if I was ‘some kind of fucking faggot’. I was nineteen and he never looked at me the same way again. So I get it. But you’re not, dammit, you’re not broken or alien. Well, I guess you actually are an alien if we’re getting specific but--look, I know we only just met or whatever, but seems to me like you’re a pretty cool dude. Okay?”

Cas stares at him. “Okay.”

“And you did the right thing leaving. You wanna see the universe? Go see the fuckin’ universe!”

He stops, breathing hard. Cas is still staring. “Why are you so angry?” he asks, bemused. Ain’t that the question. Dean has no idea, except that he met Cas like three days ago and he already knows for sure that he ain’t the sort of guy fit for the life of an obedient killing machine. His dream is to go to a planet made of flowers, for crying out loud.

“Freedom shouldn’t be something you have to fight for.” He shrugs. “It should be a given. I’ll stick up for anyone who believes in that.”

Castiel smiles then, small and soft. “Thank you, Dean. But you should get back into bed. You’re cold.”

With anyone else it could feel like a dismissal, or a deliberate change in subject, but with Cas it's neither of those things. It's an acknowledgement of the weight of that conversation and feeling out the easy tendrils of a bond blooming between them. It's also a statement of fact, because Dean's feet are fucking freezing. “Yeah.” He feels a bit stupid now, charging out of bed to give Cas what? A talking to? Jesus.

There’s still a warm spot on his mattress so he curls up into it, pulling his blankets back around him. Across the room Cas starts reciting pi again, although quieter than before. Dean folds his pillow around his head in an attempt to block out the sound, resigned to the fact that this is his life now.

 

 

 

Cas slots into place on the Impala like he belongs there. The others accept him immediately. Even Benny, after a little bit of posturing and growling, warms up to him. It takes a while to get to Vruoq, so they all have some time to catch up with various crap they’ve been slacking on--sifting through client messages, research, cleaning their living spaces and so on--and Cas will quietly ask permission to observe or participate with each of them in turn.

Dean’s turn comes eight days after Cas’s arrival. When he lets everybody know at breakfast that he’ll be in the engine room if anyone needs him, Cas’s head whips up. Guess he’ll have a work buddy for a couple of hours, then.

Cas shuffles after him down to the bowels of the Impala, where the pipes gurgle and hiss and the dim safety lights flicker weakly overhead. The engine room is a hot and sweaty space that smells like grease and oil and metal. Dean loves it, and he could spend hours down here if it wasn’t for the very real threat of dehydration. As far as he’s concerned, this is his baby’s _heart_. Sometimes he convinces himself he can hear it beating; the thrum of the alternator and whir of the pistons creates a the kind of rhythm that gets into his bones and finds a home there.

"All right, overalls are over there if you wanna, y'know, not end up looking like a grease monkey."

Cas blinks like Dean's just spoken to him in Elvish, which is ridiculous because Dean's pretty sure he'd still be able to understand if he did, and eventually frowns at the blue suits.

"You want me to assist?" he asks slowly.

"Isn't that what you want?" Dean waves a hand towards the shelves of tools. "C'mon, man, you learn by doing."

It soon transpires that Cas is about as much help as a hole in the head. He knows his stuff, sure--he's probably got every mechanical manual ever memorized in that brain of his--but his lack of practical ability quickly files him at the top of Dean's mental list of people he wants far away from ever touching the engine of his ship.

"Cas, Cas!" he snaps, when Cas twists a bolt none-too-gently, "Dude, treat her like the lady she is."

Cas huffs, wiping his sweaty forehead with his sleeve. "I understand why you're so sentimental, a lot of humans attach emotional value to inanimate objects, but also I don't get it at all."

Dean sighs and attempts to explain. "Look, I didn't have squat when I was a kid, okay? And then I arrived on Sioux and got to thinkin' maybe I could finally do something just for me. So, Bobby taught me everything I'm teaching you now. And then I built the Impala. For a long time after that it was just me, reckless and downright stupid sometimes. I made enemies. But when I had nothing else, I had her. Her AI system was the only thing I would talk to for weeks sometimes and she kept me sane, Cas."

Dean watches as Cas lifts an oil-streaked hand and gently lays a palm on a water pipe.

"I'm glad," he says, in that unsettlingly sincere way of his, "that you weren't entirely alone."

Dean thinks about what it must have been like for Cas growing up on Eden and realizes that maybe they have a lot more in common than just a rule-breaking streak.

"Here," he softens, and can't help catching Cas's hand in his and guiding it to the tangle of cables he's rewiring. "Lemme show you."

 

 

 

The auction room on Vruoq is huge, the people in it rich and draped in gold and silks. They strut in their heels and leather boots, peering in at the display cases with jeweled glasses perched on the end of their pointed noses. The whole atmosphere makes Dean feel itchy and uncomfortable.

They've all dressed to fit in, meaning suits and ball gowns and robes. Cas has borrowed one of Dean's midnight blue three-piece suits and it fits him well. Really well. Like, Dean can't stop staring at the smooth lines of his shoulders, well.

And it's not just the suit. When Cas had emerged from Donna's cabin earlier he'd looked like a different guy than the scruffy homeless dude they picked up a couple of weeks ago. Donna had cut his hair for him and his jaw was sharp and clean-shaven. Dean kind of wanted to suck a bruise into it, mess him up a little.

"All right," he tells the others now, because thoughts like that are dangerous. "In and out, no fuss, no hassle."

"Bet you say that to all the boys and girls," Charlie ribs, eyes twinkling.

"Nah, only to you."

"Oh my god," Kevin complains, picking at the sleeves of his offensively purple scholar's robes, "can we just get this over with?"

"And that's what all the girls say to _you_ ," Dean retorts, at which point Hannah is the one to roll her eyes and demand they all find their seats.

It goes pretty damn well, actually. Donna and Kevin have lists of what would and wouldn't be worth their time and Hannah and Charlie are ferocious bidders, but it's Cas who really proves his worth. Not so much because of his great historical knowledge or whatever, though that is pretty substantial if the lecture he gave them on the reigning monarchs of the planet Muscaystea over breakfast is anything to go by, but because he fucking creeps people out in this totally unsuspecting, unintentional kinda way until they end up dropping their bids.

"Where's Benny?" Cas asks, just after he’s casually stared down a woman trying to bid against them for a Mesopotamian wolf carving that Dean knows Garth Fitzgerald would pay a fortune for.

"This ain't really his thing," Dean explains, "he's more like... security detail. He'll be standing in the shuttle lot pissin' people off with his Vampy growls."

In the next half-hour they successfully win three more lots that Dean’s confident will keep them going for a while: a collection of journals belonging to King Puew, the ancient leader of Steron; a chest of solid bronze jewelry found in Nualara’s vast purple ocean; and an original Earth painting by John Singer Sargent.

Dean’s talking to Kevin and Cas about whether they know anyone in particular they could sell to or whether they should advertise it all publicly when someone sits on his other side, knocking his elbow. He turns to give the guy an offended look--only he freezes, because the smarmy face that greets him belongs to none other than Crowley, bane of Dean’s fucking existence.

“Oh, look who it is,” Dean says brightly, “the scum of the universe.”

He feels Cas stiffen next to him, can hear that Hannah and Donna have stopped chatting in front. Charlie is moving and Kevin is subtly tapping at his wrist-comm. Dean sees Crowley’s eyes fall on it, and the fact that he doesn’t seem concerned that Kevin is probably alerting Benny is more than a bit worrying.

“Dean, you charm me,” Crowley says, eyes cold, “but I think we can skip the niceties, don’t you? I’m just here to collect my debt.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” Dean growls. “Hell, you owe _me_.” They never should have worked with Crowley in the first place. Bobby warned them what a son of a bitch he was, but the promised payout was big enough for Dean to do it anyway. Some old stone tablet for a million interstellar credits. _One million_. Dean had dreamt big for a whole two weeks while they tracked the tablet down; he was gonna pay for Kevin to go back to Prophesia and visit his mom, buy Charlie the custom-made Hogwarts uniform she wanted (because even in _space_ he can’t escape Harry goddamn Potter), get _all_ his crew whatever they wanted. He was gonna send some money to Sam, maybe get Bobby an unlimited supply of whiskey.

Then a couple of Crowley’s goons had turned up to make the trade and tried to get away with the tablet without giving Dean even a glimpse at the million. He’d only evaded them thanks to Hannah’s quick thinking and Donna literally hiding the tablet down her shirt, but Crowley’s been pestering them ever since. Dean doesn’t care. As far as he can tell, this tablet must be pretty important. If Crowley doesn’t want to pay up, someone else will.

“Give me the tablet, I’ll give you half a million,” Crowley offers, leaning against the back of the chair and hooking one leg over his other. Dean laughs in disbelief.

“Half a million? Our deal was for a whole million, in case you’d forgotten.”

“Oh, I didn’t forget. I’m just knocking five-hundred thousand off for inconveniences on my part and the delay on your part.”

“That doesn’t seem fair,” Cas interjects and oh God, Dean wills him to shut up. Anything Cas says is bound to make this worse, and sure enough, Crowley’s eyes spark with interest as they land on him.

“A Seraph?” he asks Dean, still fixing Cas with a creepy, calculating look, “You went and got yourself a fully-charged Seraph? As if a powered-down one wasn’t bad enough.”

Out of the corner of his eye Dean sees Hannah bristle with anger and Donna lay a hand on her arm.

“Fuck off, Crowley,” Dean spits, “you’re not getting your hands on the tablet.”

Crowley sighs like Dean’s a particularly dense toddler. “Yes, I thought you might say that. Which is why I’m going to have to bring out the--what do you call it--ah yes, _big guns_.”

Charlie laughs unkindly and Dean smirks at the flash of anger that flits over Crowley’s unpleasant face.

“What big guns?” he scoffs.

A slow smile spreads across Crowley’s mouth, turning up his lips and making him look more like a vulture than usual. “Bargaining chips,” he says. He holds up a hand, clicks his fingers, and that’s when all hell breaks loose.

The smoke bomb goes off at the same time the lights go out. People start screaming, there’s the sound of shattering glass, and Dean curses every god under the sun as he fumbles around in the darkness. He grabs hold of someone’s arm, unsure if it belongs to one of the crew or some random stranger, but then he finds a hand attached to the arm and the hand grabs back.

“Dean?” Charlie gasps, squeezing tight.

“Yeah, where are the others?” he asks, but his eyes won’t adjust. They’re watering and stinging in the smoke, which has started burning his lungs. Something explodes nearby and there are more yells, more shrieking. Dean gets shoved hard in the back as someone runs past him; a big and solid shape hits against his gut and his abdomen erupts in pain.

“Fuck, we’ve gotta get outta here,” he hisses.

“This way,” Charlie says, tugging him toward what Dean hopes is the way out. They’re bumped and jostled and Dean falls over twice, but he doesn’t let go of Charlie’s hand and they somehow manage to keep moving. It’s chaos, madness, and the noise and gloom is so oppressive Dean feels his chest tighten and his head spin with claustrophobia.

A body, immovable as iron, crashes into his side and Dean goes to shove back when a gruff voice says, “Dean? Is that you?”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Dean breathes, grabbing hold of Cas’s shirtsleeve. “You got any of the others with you?”

“Me,” Donna says, voice shaking audibly.

The smoke is thick enough that Dean can taste it. It pushes down his throat and makes him retch and cough. The four of them stick together tightly, blindly pushing forward in the crowd. If they could just get outside, to the crisp, clear air and baby-pink skies of Vruoq, they could find Benny, find the shuttle, and get back to the Impala.

Dean hears Donna cry out in pain but as he turns to help her he slices his arm on something razor-edged and cold. Broken glass, maybe. Warm blood oozes down his wrist but he hasn’t got time to deal with that now. Another bang shakes the foundations, sending plaster raining down on their heads. Charlie urges them faster, and fuck it, Dean takes hold of Cas’s hand when a particularly rough bump threatens to dislodge his grip on Cas’s sleeve.

“Dean!”

That’s Benny, definitely Benny, and there’s a faint glow shining through the haze thirty feet away. A way out of this mess. Dean’s not a religious man but he sends up a prayer of thanks.

They run full-pelt towards it, stumbling over God knows what. Dean’s ribs are on fire, the coughing tearing up his lungs, his arm throbbing viciously. He’s gasping for breath by the time they finally make it outside, where Benny is waiting amidst the mass of wailing, hysterical people.

“Go!” he yells at them. “Hannah’s already in the shuttle, go!”

Dean doesn’t even stop and think. He’s still holding Cas and Charlie’s hands when they reach the shuttle and fling themselves in, Benny hot on their heels. Hannah’s already sitting shotgun, trembling like a leaf and eyes wide with tears.

“I tried to stop him,” she breathes when they’re all in and Dean’s started the engine. “I promise, Dean, I tried--but I--there wasn’t…”

Cas leans forward from the back, placing a sooty hand on her shoulder. “Hannah? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Kevin,” she sobs and oh God, oh God, _no_ \--

“What? What about him?” Dean demands, because if anything’s happened to that kid he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

Hannah buries her face in her hands. “Crowley took him! I saw them both disappear, right as the lights blew. I don’t know where, but--”

Dean swipes a hand over his face. Kidnapped isn’t dead. Kidnapped _isn’t_ dead. “It’s okay,” he tells Hannah, himself, all of them, “it’s okay. We’ll get back to the Impala, figure this out.”

Thirty seconds later and the shuttle sinks into the familiar embrace of the Impala’s belly and they all trudge out. They’re gross, grimy and sweaty. Almost everyone is bleeding and bruised. They troop up the spiral staircase from the shuttle dock to the main level and Dean tells them all to join him in the control room when they’re ready. They all deserve a bit of time to process and Dean’s gonna die if he doesn’t get to shower soon.

Cas follows close behind him. He collapses onto the edge of the pullout when they get inside Dean’s cabin, eyes closed and chin dropped down to his chest. There’s plaster and brick dust in his hair, making it look almost white in a stark contrast to his blackened and dirty skin.

“How you doing, man?” Dean asks gently. Cas didn’t sign up for any of this shit. He’s only been with them two weeks and already Dean’s nearly gotten him killed.

“I am… unharmed,” Cas tells him, voice hoarse. “Are _you_ okay?”

Dean’s arm is still bleeding sluggishly, his head is starting to ache, and his stomach hurts where he crashed into whatever it was he crashed into, but he’ll survive.

“Yeah. You mind if I shower first?”

“Go ahead.”

Dean grabs some clean sweats and a t-shirt and takes them into the bathroom with him, where he dumps them on the closed toilet lid and reaches into the shower to turn on the spray. Once the water’s warm enough, he climbs in and stands underneath it for a long time. He can’t believe how epically wrong today went, and he’s wracking his brain trying to come up with how that could have happened, what mistakes he made that led to Kevin being captured, how he can _fix_ it.

Crowley must have gotten around Benny in the shuttle lot, which wouldn’t have been hard. Benny’s only one guy and Crowley’s King of Helletopia, he has powers none of them could begin to match.

Dean growls in frustration, letting his forehead drop against the cool tiled wall. They’ll get Kevin back. They’ve got to. Crowley will want the tablet, Dean will hand it over. He doesn’t even care at this point.

He soaps himself up and scrubs himself down viciously. It hurts, and reveals more scrapes and bruises than he noticed before, but he hardly feels the sting or sees how the water turns pink as it sluices off his arm. He gets out only when his fingers have gone pruney and rubs himself dry with a towel. He doesn't bother much with his hair, letting it soak the collar of his t-shirt. The coolness of it feels nice along his brow and the back of his neck.

Exhaustion is beginning to set in, but Dean manages to brush his teeth and take several long gulps of water from the faucet. It soothes his raw throat and washes away the taste of smoke that still lingers on his tongue, but it does little to help the ever-increasing nausea in the pit of his stomach.

Cas is still on the pullout when Dean opens the door, but he drags himself up and into the shower when he sees that it's free. Dean takes a mini first aid kit out of his dresser and figures he should probably start patching up his arm before he bleeds to death. The cut is neat and even and not too deep, which is good. No stitches. He’s had enough of those in the past to last a lifetime.

Cas comes back as Dean is fighting with the bandage, trying to wrap it with one hand. Wordlessly, he sits down next to Dean and gently takes the roll of gauze from his fingers, using his own to hold the bandage in place and wind it round Dean's forearm.

"Thanks," Dean says quietly, and Cas just nods. Dean takes the opportunity to quietly observe him, the shape of his face, his line of his nose, the sweep of his eyelashes. The way his wet hair curls behind his ears and droops over his forehead. His hands, steady and graceful as they keep Dean still. These are all nice things and just for a second, Dean forgets to be scared and angry and guilty. He forgets that he's only known Cas for a matter of days, because it feels like so much longer.

Then Cas accidentally bumps his side and Dean gasps, jarred back into reality by the stab of pain that blooms near his ribs. Frowning, Cas shows little consideration for personal boundaries and carefully eases Dean’s shirt up over his stomach. He subtly tries to suck in his gut as Cas inspects the blossoming purple bruise over his abdomen.

“I could heal this, if you’d let me,” he suggests softly. He sounds pained himself.

“And have you waste your grace on something that’ll get better in a coupla days? No way, Cas.”

Cas doesn’t back down. “Dean, you’ve done so much for me. Let me do this for you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Dean tells him firmly. “All right? You don’t need to--to pay me back, or whatever. Besides, all this was my fault. Kevin getting taken? My fault. Getting you and the rest of the crew caught up in this? My fault. So just… leave it. Okay?”

Face creased in pity, Cas reaches forward and takes Dean’s hand. Dean has to try hard not to tell him to knock it off. “Dean…” he begins, which is when the door opens and Benny sticks his head in, effectively ruining the moment.

“Cap,” he says, “it’s Crowley.”

 

 

 

It is indeed Crowley, or rather, it’s Crowley’s terrifyingly giant holographic head, as Dean discovers when he and Cas walk into the control room where the rest of the crew are standing around uneasily.

“Jesus, that’s gonna give me nightmares,” he quips, but he knows Crowley sees straight through his bullshit posturing.

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” he says sweetly. “I propose a new deal.”

“No,” Dean snaps. “Not a chance in hell, you slimy bag of dicks. You’ve had your chance and you blew it. You think I give a fuck what happens to the tablet? You can have it, I just want Kevin back.”

“Oh, you mean this little guy?”

The hologram flashes to an image of Kevin curled up on a thin and ratty mattress in some sort of jail cell, filthy and disgusting, and Dean’s hands curl into fists at his side. “I swear to God, Crowley, if you’ve hurt him--”

“Would I?” Crowley mock-gasps. “Anyway, as I was saying before you rudely cut me off: you can have him back. All he does is whine anyway. I just want one thing in return.”

“Yeah, the tablet,” Dean frowns, confused, and then worried when Crowley’s smirk becomes more menacing.

“Actually, no,” he says smoothly, “that Seraph’s grace.”

A horrible silence follows. Dean feels like someone just knocked his world off kilter. “What?”

“You heard me. I’ve decided I don’t care about the tablet anymore. That was before I knew you had _that_ hidden away on the behemoth you call a ship.” He nods towards Cas and anger surges through Dean.

“You’re not getting Cas, Crowley! Jesus, are you fuckin’ crazy?”

Crowley rolls his eyes. “I don’t want _all_ of him, just the grace part. You can cut that out, send it on over, and I’ll happily release Kevin to your sweaty clutches.”

“No. _No_.” Dean shakes his head. “I’ll give you the tablet, okay, and we can forget about the million interstellar credits, all of it.”

With a sigh, Crowley says, “Clearly you weren’t listening. I don’t want the bloody tablet! The things I could do with that _pale_ in comparison to the things I could do with the grace of a Seraph. Ooh, I get all tingly just thinking about it.”

“Dean,” Cas says, stepping forward, “it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay! Your grace is part of you, Cas, you can’t just give that up like it means nothing!”

“People were hurt today, Dean. My grace doesn’t mean as much to me as their lives, and definitely not more than Kevin’s life.”

Dean yanks himself away from all of them, swiping a hand over his face. “We’ve known you two weeks, Cas. _Two weeks_.”

He knows it hurts when he sees Cas’s face crumple and he feels like a dick about it, but he can’t let Cas do this, he can’t. Cas doesn’t deserve this. He has the freedom to do anything now, but he ended up stuck with Dean. That definitely ain’t a fair trade. There’s no way Dean’s going to be responsible for him giving up the one thing he has left.

“Well, this is all very touching,” Crowley croons, “But I must be getting on. You’ve got twenty-four hours until I take a knife to little Kev’s throat. Ta ta.”

He blinks out of existence. Cas storms out of the room, slamming a door behind him. Hannah chases after him, leaving Dean to face the judgemental glares of the rest of his crew.

“What?” he snaps. “What do you want me to do?”

“We can’t leave Kevin there with Crowley, Dean,” Donna says. “Who knows what that monster will do.”

“I know that! But we can’t ask Cas to give up his grace, either!”

Benny clears his throat. “At least Cas’ll still be alive and kickin’.”

“Hannah’s managing all right without hers.” Charlie shrugs.

Dean sinks into a chair, head in his hands. He doesn’t know what to _do_. Crowley’s a slippery son of a bitch, it would be virtually impossible to try and double-cross him. He _is_ the double-crosser. Unless… unless they come up with a hell of a good plan. And Dean can’t do that on his own.

“Get Sam on the video comms,” he orders, making Donna jump to her feet and rush over to the controls.

Sam might be able to help. He’s an Intergalactic Special Agent, so he has the force of the entire Intergalactic Bureau of Investigation behind him. And Sam himself is smart as hell; he’ll come up with something. Storm Crowley’s little hideout, lock him up and throw away the key, Dean doesn’t care as long as they have a plan.

“Hey, Dean, guys,” Sam says when the call connects and his face appears on the screen, all floppy-haired and puppy-like. Some things never change.

“Sammy, we need your help,” Dean pleads, and gives his brother the lowdown on everything that’s happened. Sam’s frown gets deeper and deeper with every minute that passes, until he’s at the point of running his hand through his hair and constantly sighing like a deflating balloon.

“Dammit, Dean, how’d this even happen?” he eventually asks.

“I screwed up, Sam, alright? I never should have worked with Crowley in the first place, I get it. Can you help us or not?”

Sam leans back in his chair, scratching his chin. “I don’t know. Crowley’s a _king_ on his planet. We can’t just arrest him on your word. That’d never hold up in court. He’s too powerful; he’s got too many people under his thumb."

“Fuck. So, what can we do?”

“Leave it with me. I’ll go talk to my boss and Jess and see if we can come up with something.”

Dean doesn’t know about Sam’s boss, but he does know that his girlfriend and partner, Jess, is one of the most badass Agents in the universe. It makes him feel a little more reassured. Just a bit, because the rest of him is still sick with anxiety.

“We’ve got twenty-four hours, Sammy.”

“Yeah, Dean, I know. Talk to you later.”

He signs out and they’re left with nothing but the sound of quiet static. Donna is the first one to move, reaching across to give Dean’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“I’ll go make dinner,” she says.

Benny silently follows her out. Dean sighs and looks over at Charlie, who gives him a small smile.

“Don’t beat yourself up, Dean,” she tells him.

He snorts. “Yeah, right. I’ve managed to piss Cas off, Kevin’s life hangs in the balance, and all ’cause, what? I wanted a big payout?”

Charlie wheels her chair closer and fixes him with the sort of look that usually means he’s in trouble. “What were you going to do with that money?”

A little confused, Dean starts, “Get Kevin a trip home, make sure Sam and Jess had enough--”

“No,” she interrupts, “what were _you_ going to do with the money?”

Huh. Dean doesn’t have an answer to that. He hadn’t really thought that far. He’d probably have just taken whatever was left after he’d shared it out between the crew and spent it on Earth-imported pie and maybe a few new bits for the Impala’s engine.

“Exactly,” Charlie says, point made by Dean’s silence. “Dean, none of this is your fault, okay? We’re gonna get Kevin back, you’ll apologize to Cas--because dude, that was mean--and we’ll all sail off into the interstellar dust cloud together, okay?”

And this, right here, is why Charlie is his best friend. Ever since he's known her she's had this way of making him feel better--not to mention she's unafraid to call him out on his bullshit. So with her determined gaze fixed on him, Dean takes a deep breath and nods. "Yeah, okay."

 

 

 

He’s pacing. Dean’s pacing, and he knows he shouldn’t be pacing outside his room instead of going in, yet here he is. Dean Winchester. Pacing.

Hannah had passed him on his way here, her face pinched with anger. She hadn’t said anything, but she hadn’t really needed to. Dean knows Cas is in his room, probably sitting on the pullout like a sad puppy, but it still takes him a few minutes of walking up and down the corridor for him to summon the courage to go inside.

But Cas is asleep, or pretending to be, when Dean opens the door. Which is understandable. It’s late, and God knows they’ve had a long day. Except Dean feels bitterly disappointed as he slips into the bathroom to get ready for bed. Now he’ll have to wait until morning to apologize. Meanwhile, the anger and hurt Cas is feeling will have time to stew and mutate into outright hatred. He’ll probably be gone again by breakfast, fed up with Dean’s shit.

Except he’s lying in bed, nothing but darkness and the low hum of the Impala’s engine surrounding him, and realizes that hold up, didn’t Cas tell Dean just a couple of nights previously that he only needs to sleep once every two months or whatever? There’s no way he’s asleep right now, and he’s not good enough at playing a real boy yet to accurately fake it either.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says, into the quiet. “I’m a jackass.”

For a moment he thinks Cas is going to keep up this charade, then he says quietly, “You should be.”

“What I said wasn’t true, you know that right?”

Cas sighs. “Of course it’s true. We _have_ only known each other a week. You’ve been with the rest of your friends for years, it hardly compares.”

“It’s not a competition,” Dean insists. He can’t take back what he said, but he’s not sure how to make Cas realize that he was just being an idiot with a big mouth, either.

“Maybe,” Cas starts hesitantly, “maybe if I do this, give up my grace, it can pave the way to me _becoming_ your friend.”

“Goddammit, Cas, are you always this much of a self-sacrificing son of a bitch?” Dean gets out of bed, an echo of just a few nights before, and pads across the room. “You’re different, okay?”

Cas frowns, shifting to sit up against the back of the couch. “Different how?”

Dean feels his cheeks burning red and thanks the stars that it’s too dark in here to tell. “You--well, I.” He stops, tries again. “I’ve never been attracted to any of the others, that’s for sure.”

Cas’s eyes are as wide as saucers. “You’re attracted to… me?”

“Dude, have you looked in a mirror lately?” Dean figures if he blusters and jokes his way out of this he’ll be home scot-free and it never needs to be awkward and they can forget anything was ever said. But right now he just needs Cas to _know_ that he is important, and has been since the minute they met.

“Dean,” Cas breathes, and then his hand is reaching out and closing gently around Dean’s wrist and he’s pulling and uh oh Dean is going, he’s going, because he’s easy for blue eyes and bedhead and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to say no to Cas. He loses his balance when his knees bump the edge of the pullout, but that’s okay because there’s a pair of strong arms to catch him and oh, look, a mouth conveniently placed to soften the blow.

Kissing Cas isn’t like kissing anyone else in Dean’s long and varied sexual history. Cas is quite obviously painfully new at it, but eager enough to make up for his lack of technique. Besides, he seems to pick it up pretty damn quick, slipping his tongue into Dean’s mouth when Dean encourages him with a groan. Cas’s hands slide up to grip the top of his arms, his fingers dig in, and Dean near whimpers.

“You’re not giving up your grace,” Dean mumbles, lips against Cas’s skin like maybe he can press the words there and make Cas hear them. “My brother’s on the case, he’s gonna come up with a better plan, okay?”

Cas kisses behind his ear, teeth lightly tugging on his earlobe in a way that shouldn’t be hot but totally is. “I’ll concede to making it plan B,” he says, and Dean guesses that’s as good as he’s going to get.

He gets on his knees on the thin mattress, straddling Cas’s hips and looping his arms behind his head, playing with the soft hair there. He’s about to lean in for another kiss when something occurs to him.

“Wait, you’re not doing this ’cause you still feel like you owe me, right?”

The smile Cas gives him is pretty damn cute, to be honest, and he squeezes Dean’s hips. “Dean, you are… remarkably beautiful. Not just in appearance, but in here--” he taps Dean’s chest, “--and in here,” he kisses his temple. Dean feels out of breath already and they haven’t even done anything interesting yet. “You’re different too,” he finishes and yeah, that does it.

Dean sinks against him and kisses him softly, pushing them both down into the pillows. His hands slide up Cas’s shirt, palms dragging over his stomach and ribs, the hard muscles there warm and smooth and tense under his fingers.

He drags the shirt over Cas’s head, kissing his mouth again as soon as it’s unobstructed by cotton. Cas shirtless is--well, it’s fucking awesome. He’s all tan skin and pecs and abs and a slight tummy that Dean wants to suck hickeys into, but for now he settles for kissing down Cas’s neck and along his collarbone, pulling red marks to the surface as he goes.

“Dean,” Cas gasps, hands lost somewhere up the back of Dean’s own t-shirt, which quickly follows Cas’s and finds itself flung to the floor. It’s great, really great, until Dean bends just the wrong way and his abdomen flares up in pain.

“Ow,” he complains, reluctantly pulling away.

Cas’s face turns sympathetic. With gentle fingertips, he lightly touches the mottled bruise there. “Maybe we should just sleep,” he suggests, then looks down guiltily and adds, “I… may have used a little of my grace today at the auction house. There was a sculpture that was about to collapse on somebody--anyway, my body is urging me to sleep.”

Dean can’t even bring himself to reprimand Cas for using his grace. Not when he was doing it to save someone’s life, for God’s sake. But he finds himself agreeing to the rest of it. It’s been the longest fucking day ever and his eyes have been itching for the last hour or two.

“Yeah,” he says, “but you’re not sleeping here.” He climbs off of Cas and gets to his feet, taking Cas’s hand to pull him over to his own memory foam bed, more than big enough for the two of them. Like he’d be able to sleep alone with Cas ten feet away after a kiss like that anyway.

They curl up together under the blankets in a way that’s almost frightening in its ease. It’s not hard for Dean to assume little spoon position and Cas, mindful of Dean’s injuries, wraps an arm around his chest so gently that Dean feels protected and safe for the first time in a long time.

“Goodnight, Dean,” Cas whispers, nose nuzzling into the short hair at the back of Dean’s neck.

Dean swallows hard. “Night, Cas.”

 

 

 

Sam’s exhausted face appears on the comm screen while the whole crew is eating breakfast the next morning, and Dean knows just from his expression that it isn’t good news.

“C’mon, Sammy, tell me you got something,” he pleads.

“I’m sorry, Dean.” He looks it, too, but sorrys don’t save Kevin. “He’s clean. Jess and I have been up all night looking for something we could pin on him, but he’s annoyingly careful at covering his tracks. Not to mention he’s a planetary king, so it’d have to be a heck of a charge to get the Agency to even _think_ about hauling him in for questioning.”

“He’s holding someone hostage for a ransom! Isn’t that bad enough?” Charlie asks loudly.

Sam shakes his head. “We have no proof. It’d be your word against his, and between you and me, there are a lot of higher-ups here who wouldn’t even listen to Kevin’s side of the story. It sucks, guys. I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks, Sam. For trying.”

“No problem. Keep me updated, okay?”

The screen flickers black and Dean refuses to look at Cas because he can feel him itching to suggest his ‘plan B’, but as far as he’s concerned that is _never_ going to happen. They are not giving Crowley what he wants. Anger courses through him and he revels in it, uses it to stoke him up. His brain runs into overdrive, a million half-assed plans chasing each other’s tails around his head but there's only one that could potentially work.

“Let’s trick him,” he says, and gets five blank stares in reply. “I’m serious, let’s give him a taste of his own medicine for once. Can we replicate a Seraph’s grace?”

Hannah hums. “Possibly, with the right chemicals. But Crowley will realize soon enough that it’s fake.”

“And what about Cas?” Donna says. “At the auction he could sense Cas’s powers, right? So he’ll know he’s not human as soon as he sees him.”

Benny scratches his beard. “So he doesn’t see him. Cas stays here and we take the shuttle to make the switch.”

“No,” Cas interjects. “You’re not leaving me behind.”

“I know you want to help, but you’ll be a shining beacon of power, buddy,” Dean reminds him. “Benny’s right, we’ll tell Crowley the grace cutting out process knocked you out, or something.”

“Dean--”

“Cas, you can’t. If we stand any chance of this working long enough to get Kevin outta there, you gotta stay here. Hey, you can be our getaway pilot.”

“I can’t pilot a ship,” Cas mutters mutinously and it makes Dean chuckle. He resists the temptation to do something dumb like push his fingers through Cas’s hair in front of the others.

“I’ll set her autopilot up,” he assures him. “You’ll do fine.”

Hannah pushes to her feet. “I’m gonna see if we have everything we need. We might need to make a stop.”

“All right.” Dean nods. Benny spins around to take the controls again, pulling up a galaxy map on the nav screen. Donna and Charlie disappear to help Hannah, leaving Cas sitting at the table with his hands clasped around a steaming mug of the Earth coffee he already loves so much.

"You know," he says slowly, "if you'd just let me--"

"Give it a rest, Cas," Dean snaps, because he's a metaphorical broken record only this time the needle is more like a knife poised to stab him and it's driving Dean crazy.

Unable to sit still any longer and desperate to be doing something vaguely useful, he makes his way to the armory. There's no way he's going near Crowley without some way blow the douchebag's head off. God, that would solve so many problems.

Sixteen hours. They've got sixteen hours left until their "thinking time" is over and Crowley's going to demand Cas's grace or kill Kevin.

 

 

 

Cas finds him an hour later, taking out his anger on one of the training dummies. He waits for Dean to stop pummelling holes in the thing before he speaks. “I was hoping you could tell me about the Impala.”

So Dean does. And it’s actually pretty calming, instructing Cas on how to engage safety protocols, and let the shuttle in and out, and make a quick getaway. Cas listens attentively, nodding in all the right places and occasionally asking a question, or reiterating a point to make sure he understands.

“Okay, so, her autopilot will kick in as soon as I leave, so all you gotta do really is keep an eye on the coordinates and watch out for meteors and other ships.”

Cas squints at him. “That’s all?”

Dean finishes loading his gun with salt rounds. “Yeah, man, she’s a smart girl. And if all else fails, call Bobby. He’ll tell you what to do.”

Steady hands take the gun from him and carefully slot it into the holster under Dean’s arm. Cas is pressed close, worry lines creasing up his face. Dean wants to smooth them away, but he doesn’t think anything’s capable of that at this point, so he just lightly kisses the corner of Cas’s mouth instead.

“It’s gonna be fine,” he promises, because maybe if he says it enough times it’ll be true.

Cas nods and picks up a knife. He twirls it in his graceful fingers for a moment before launching it across the room. It hits one of the targets. _Bullseye_.

“I wish I was coming,” he mutters, bitterly.

Dean sighs. “I get it, Cas, I really do, but if we stand any chance of this working you can’t be nearby. Besides,” he adds, hoping for levity, “can’t have you distracting me with more displays like that when I’m trying to kill the bad guys.”

It’s enough to make Cas’s lips twitch. “You’re saying that turns you on?”

Dean gives him a salacious wink. “Seeing you get all fighty and mighty? Ooh yeah, baby, c’mere and give it to me right now.”

Cas laughs, which Dean considers a success.

 

 

 

They spend the day getting ready while they make the slow and unpleasant journey towards Helletopia. They have to pass the Badlands, where pirates lay in wait. Stray meteors zoom in out of nowhere, and the dust clouds are so dense visibility is shot to hell. It’s not fun, and Dean wouldn’t feel comfortable doing it if he didn’t have Benny at his side the whole time. When they finally make it through, he’s worked up enough of an appetite that he forces down the sandwiches Donna made for everyone, before heading back to the armory to triple-check that everything is loaded and operational. If he inherited one thing from John Winchester, it’s being a paranoid bastard.

Still, despite the busy day he lies awake for a long time that night, staring at nothing through the darkness until he finally gives up.

It's likely that Cas isn't really asleep when Dean carefully untangles their bodies and slips out of bed, but he appreciates the pretence of it. All he wants right now is to be alone, and he suspects Cas might have figured that out. He bends down to kiss Cas's hair, a thank you and a promise to come back soon all in one.

Benny sits at the Impala's controls but Dean tells him to go to bed. He sinks into his Captain’s chair, feeling entirely unworthy of that title at the moment, and places a palm on Baby’s mainframe. She comes to life under his touch, soft lights blinking up at him.

“Oh, Baby, how do I get us out of this mess?” he sighs, knuckling at his tired eyes. The Impala doesn’t answer him, obviously, but she thrums under his hand and the tape deck clicks to life, the strains of Meat Loaf’s _Bat Out of Hell_ filtering through the system. Dean huffs. He’s not sure if it’s supposed to be a comfort or not, but he cranks up the volume anyway and grabs a notepad.

It takes all night and three cups of coffee and four pages of messy, incomprehensible notes before Dean finally feels sort of satisfied and crawls back into bed with Cas. Cas tugs him in, pulling Dean’s arms tight around his waist.

“Okay?” he asks.

Dean nuzzles into the soft hair at the back of his neck. “Okay,” he confirms, although he feels far from okay at the moment, or when he wakes up two hours later, or when he shares his idea with the rest of the crew, but eventually they hash out some sort of a game plan.

And the plan is this: they take the shuttle to wherever Crowley suggests they meet, leaving Cas onboard Impala with a clear view of what's going on via hidden video comms because it was the only way he'd agree to stay behind. Then they go in, guns tucked into their clothes but not blazing so as not to get killed, and make a huge fuss about handing over the bottle of swirling blue and white light that Hannah's managed to create. Crowley will take it, they'll get Kevin, and they won't hang around to chat. As soon as they're back in the Impala they're out of there, and hopefully they'll have a head start of at least a few hours before Crowley's goons come after them. Which should be all they need. It's a big enough galaxy to get lost in.

The plan, however, goes to shit.

 

 

 

Helletopia is a large planet whose surface glows red like hot coals. Its stench, like rotting flesh, hits them immediately. Charlie looks like she might throw up as they step down from the Impala, and Dean’s not far off himself. Waiting for them nearby are a few hard-faced women with black eyes, who silently lead the crew to their King.

The tunnels winding through Crowley’s castle form a maze, but Dean tries to remember the directions in case they need to make a hasty retreat. With every step he takes he becomes more anxious, and the sound of distant screaming doesn't help. Eventually they come to a wide room with low lighting and an actual goddamned throne, where Crowley sits with this wide smile on his face that Dean wants to just punch right off of him.

And then there's Kevin.

Seeing Kevin alive makes Dean want to crumple in relief. The kid looks scared but determined not to be, and something in Dean swells with affection for him. Unfortunately, he's still in Crowley's greedy-fingered clutches, flanked by two black-eyed meatheads with muscles the size of boulders.

"You brought my grace?" Crowley asks by way of greeting.

Dean lays it on thick. "It's not your grace, it's Cas's."

"Ah, yes, where is the little Seraph? Shame he's not here to see the handing over."

"He's human and he's recovering from major trauma," Donna snaps, "all because of you."

"Look, Crowley, this has gone far enough." It makes Dean's skin crawl, pretending to beg, but he's willing to give anything a shot at this point. "I've still got the tablet. We can go back to our original deal."

Crowley blinks at him. "I'm sure we've already had this conversation, Winchester. I. Want. The. Grace. Now fork it over."

With as much reluctance as he can muster, Dean holds out the bottle. Before Crowley can take it, however, he snatches it back and demands, "Give us Kevin."

Crowley rolls his eyes and with an impatient wave of his hand, gestures Kevin forward. They meet in the middle. Dean with the fake grace, Crowley with the real Kevin.

"After three?" Dean suggests sweetly, but Crowley just shoves Kevin forward into Dean's chest and uses the momentum of Dean being caught off guard and stumbling to grab the bottle from his hand.

Dean wants to run but he can't because that would arouse suspicion. Instead he has to stand there for an agonizingly long minute while Crowley inspects the bottle, until finally he grins triumphantly and smirks.

"Nice doing business with you."

"Fuck off and die, Crowley," Benny growls.

"Now that is not a very nice thing to say," Crowley scolds. "Didn't your mother give you any manners?"

"Let's just go," Dean says, turning away. He puts an arm around Kevin's shoulders and steers him towards the exit. Despite looking a bit shaken up, Kevin otherwise appears to be fine, and Dean’s so relieved he tightens his grip and pulls the kid into a one-armed hug.

They make it all the way to the door and Dean's just beginning to think they got away with it when Crowley calls after them, "Oh wait, there's just one more thing."

Dean stops. "What?" he grits out.

Crowley shrugs a shoulder. "I have to kill you."

Kevin tenses against his side. Slowly, Dean turns back around. Crowley is standing there as casually as if he'd just announced dinner, except for the blade he's twirling in his hand. He seems to realize Dean and his crew are staring at him because he arches an eyebrow and asks, "What, you really didn't think I'd notice a fake angel grace? Do you think I'm _stupid_?"

The way his voice echoes around the dank walls sends a frisson of fear up Dean's spine.

"Crowley--" Charlie begins, stepping forward bravely.

"No!" Crowley shouts, face turning redder and redder by the second. "How dare you come into my home and try and pull the wool over my eyes? If you think this means I'm letting you go..."

"Run!" Dean yells, but the heavy wood door slams shut before he can get to it. He curses, bangs on it a few times for good measure, then stops to evaluate the situation. This is fine. They’re fine. Sure, this is probably the biggest mess they’ve ever gotten themselves into, but at least they suspected this might happen and came armed. That’s what Dean’s telling himself, anyway.

“I’m trying to decide,” Crowley says, actually sitting in his throne again like a megadouche, “whether to lock you all up and have some fun with you, or let my pets use you as their new chew toys.”

As if on cue, there’s a deep, rumbling growl somewhere in the distance. Dean does not like the sound of that growl.

“I suppose I could do both,” he continues. He points at Dean and Benny. “Give the nice big ones to my hounds, save the rest of you for _my_ chew toys.”

It’s disgusting. He’s disgusting and Dean hates him and there’s something in the predatory way he’s looking at Hannah and Donna and Charlie in particular that makes Dean go crazy. Nobody gets to hurt his family and get away with it, not even a King. He storms right up to the plinth of that fucking ridiculous throne and punches the bastard right in the face.

It’s like time stops. At the same time that Dean’s knuckles crunch against Crowley’s jaw, a huge and almighty crash like splintering wood rocks the dungeon and a blinding bright light spills into the dark, squalid room. For a wild second Dean wonders if he could have been the one to do that, somehow, but then he sees a flash of dark hair and a tall, powerful body silhouetted in the doorway.

“Close your eyes!” Cas yells. Dean doesn’t even think, doesn’t have time to feel relieved or anxious or angry, just drops to the floor and squeezes his eyelids shut tight to block out the wave of heat and light and _power_ that strums through the room and rattles his bones like a sonic boom. There’s the sound of yelling--Crowley, that’s Crowley yelling in pain--and grunting and even possibly slapping, until finally something heavy, _two_ something heavies, crumple to the stone floor and there’s nothing but silence.

“You can all get up now,” Cas says, and Dean’s not gonna pretend he isn’t stupidly thankful to hear that voice.

Slowly, because his already-battered body is fucking aching all over, he pushes up into a sitting position. The room is in chaos. Crowley is slumped half in his throne and half hanging out of it, deadened eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling, and his two henchmen have gone the same way.

In one corner Charlie is whispering something to Hannah where they’re bundled up, faces close, and in the other Benny is simultaneously helping Donna and Kevin to their feet.

Cas is sitting hunched over himself, face buried in his hands. Dean drags himself over to him and drops his forehead to Cas’s temple without even thinking about it.

“What did you do, Cas? What did you do?” he whispers desperately into Cas’s hair, alarmed when he sees the tears slipping out from under his fingers.

“What I’ve always been trained to do,” Cas says plainly. “I killed the enemy.”

“You used up all your grace, didn’t you?” Dean asks, but he already knows the answer. He can see it in the crumpled lines of Cas’s body, the shine of his eyes when he finally looks sideways at Dean.

“I would do it again,” he tells him, “even if it makes me a killer.” Dean believes him. All of a sudden he understands. Even though he's witnessed how much happier Hannah has been since becoming human, Dean's always thought she was the exception. In his mind, Seraphs are these otherworldly beings centered around their grace. He’s always thought that Seraphs’ grace made them who they are, but he’s starting to realize it’s not like that at all. It was never about Cas wanting to keep his power, not really, it was about Cas wanting to keep his _identity_. The two things are not as linked as Dean always thought they were. This right here, this is who Cas is. The guy who busts in and saves his friends, no matter the cost.

“You’re not a killer,” Dean tells him, mouth open against his jaw, “you’re a hero. You’re a human. You’re fuckin’ great. You’re also the guy who’s gonna make out with me as soon as we get back to the Impala, ‘cause man, that was hot.”

Cas laughs at that, even as Kevin declares they’re “gross” and Donna squees a little bit. Dean takes the opportunity to kiss Cas right on the mouth, loving the hands that come up and hold him there when he tries to pull back. He huffs, amused, and lets Cas cling for a few moments longer before finally dragging himself away.

“Come on,” Dean says. He stands up, tugging Cas with him. Hannah smiles at Cas and Charlie catches Dean’s eye, giving him a thumbs up. Dean looks around at his mixed-up little family, grinning stupidly and not even caring. “Let’s go home.”

 

+

 

The splash of yellow flowers get crushed when Dean and Cas fall into them, their perfume seeping into the warm air and picked up by the breeze. There are tiny colorful owls twittering overhead, probably sending warning calls after a great big goddamned spaceship disturbed their peace and quiet. It’s all white noise to Dean though; all he can hear is the rush of blood in his ears, the pumping of his heart, and the soft, breathy groans Cas is pressing into his mouth.

His hands tighten reflexively on Cas’s hips, gripping fistfuls of his soft blue shirt. Their mouths are biting, bruising, they’re so goddamn desperate for each other.

“I can’t believe,” Dean growls, dragging his swollen lips over rough stubble, “that we’ve come all this way to Flos, and the first thing we do is--”

“Have sex?” Cas finishes, fingers fumbling with the button on Dean’s pants. “Yeah, what a crazy idea.”

They haven’t done this yet. Since they got Kevin back and all that shit went down with Crowley they’ve been busy cleaning everything up. They still had the tablet and had to take it to the Purgatorian Desert where no one would ever find it. It was too dangerous to keep out in the open; the thought of it falling into the wrong hands was frightening.

So what with that and dropping his crew off at various locations for a mandatory extended vacation, they’d hardly had the opportunity to spend much time with each other. Until a few days ago, when they’d left Charlie on Moondor to spend time with her LARPing friends and finally, _finally_ had the Impala to themselves. Dean had woken up one morning with Cas’s rock hard dick pressed against his ass and a hot mouth on his neck and when Cas had whispered an apology, mortified, Dean had simply rolled over and shoved a hand down Cas’s boxers.

But that was a rushed and sloppy handjob where they were too eager to last very long and this is… this is different. Whatever it is, it definitely feels like it’s going somewhere and Dean is way more than okay with that, he’s fucking gone, red in the face and stupidly turned on.

They managed to keep it together for most of the journey to Flos, mainly because Dean had to navigate an entirely unfamiliar nebula and maze of stars, but the second they landed they were on each other. Dean wouldn’t be able to say who pounced first, but he knows that the whole way through their descent he could feel Cas’s hot gaze dragging up and down his body.

He gets his hands in the back pockets of Cas’s pants, now, yanking him closer. “Your fault,” he gasps, absently.

Cas pauses in disbelief and says, “My fault? How is it my fault?”

_Because sometimes you look at me like you love me_ , Dean wants to say. _Because I want you so bad I can hardly think_.

“Less talking, more kissing,” he demands instead. He’s not ready for that. Yet.

Cas doesn’t argue. Instead, he succeeds in his mission of getting Dean’s jeans and underwear shoved down to his thighs and then grabs Dean’s face, kissing him furiously. Dean moans and slides his hands up under Cas’s shirt, over the warm skin there, already damp with sweat. He’s hard and aching and he can feel that Cas is too through his slacks, but he savors it for a moment, the spit-slick slide of their mouths and the tight hold they have on each other. Cas’ palms on his cheeks anchor him to the moment.

Cas pushes to his knees, straddling Dean’s hips so his shirt hangs baggy and loose in front of him, perfect for Dean to push his hands up further, pressing his thumbs over Cas’s nipples until he shudders and moans.

The thing is, Dean remembers that rushed last time. He knows what makes Cas tick, where to kiss and where to lick and where to drag his nails. He remembers how Cas shivered when Dean had nipped at his earlobe. But he doesn’t know _this_ and he isn’t sure how to ask for what he wants.

Luckily for him, Cas seems to know. He kisses down Dean’s legs as he removes Dean’s pants all the way then drags his mouth back up, focusing on the ticklish spot behind Dean’s knee and the thin skin at the top of his thigh. He takes Dean into his mouth like it’s a holy revelation, not doing something criminally filthy and exceptionally hot. When he hollows his cheeks Dean practically sobs, fingers clawing at the ground and pulling up clumps of cool, damp grass.

“Hey, Cas, hey,” he grunts, pulling him up to eye level and using the opportunity to finally get rid of Cas’s shirt. They strip each other slowly of the few scraps of clothing they had left between them until they’re naked, exposed to the sugary-sweet air but warm at all the points where they press together.

“You've gotta fuck me, man,” Dean whimpers, his legs already instinctively curling around Cas’s waist, but Cas falters, just slightly.

“I’ve never done this before,” he confesses, only just loud enough for Dean to hear, and straight away Dean feels like a dick.

“Hey, it’s okay, we don’t have to--”

But Cas kisses him, brief yet dirty enough to rev Dean’s engines, then says, “No, I want to. I really, _really_ want to. I just want it to be good for you.”

Which is possibly the sweetest, stupidest thing Dean’s ever heard. “Cas, I can pretty much guarantee anything you do will be good for me.”

Cas doesn’t waste time after that. He rolls Dean over onto his stomach and trails blazing hot kisses down his spine and over his butt until he’s full on eating Dean out in a field of goddamn flowers. Dean can’t do anything but gasp and groan and try not to inhale too much dirt while his body shudders and presses back into Cas’s clever tongue.

A bottle of lube appears by his head, flung from a pocket of Cas’s pants, and Dean would laugh at Cas for being such a presumptuous little shit only he’s too busy trying not to come at the feeling of Cas’s long fingers in his ass.

He gets rolled over again, the stars and dusty nebula trails blinking at him overhead, and he’s dizzy with lust as he grabs for Cas’s shoulders and begs him to hurry up and _do_ it already. Cas moans into the sweaty dip of Dean’s clavicle, and then pushes in mind-meltingly slowly, kissing Dean the whole time.

It’s amazing. Dean’s had a few rolls in the hay in his time but this blows all the others out of the ballpark. Whether it’s because it’s Cas, this weird dorky little guy that he’s known for all of a month and has fallen hard for, or because they have this beautiful planet all to themselves, or because Cas is just that good, Dean skyrockets into the realms of mindless pleasure. His thighs are trembling around Cas’s waist, sweat drips down his temples, and he struggles hard to keep his eyes open. He wants to see Cas’ face when he comes, watch those lightning-blue eyes roll back in his head, but the sensory overload is too much.

He doesn’t last much longer. Cas takes him in hand and jerks him off ruthlessly all while whispering filthy shit in his ear , and Dean doesn’t really stand a chance against that. His whole body locks up for three terrifying, incredible seconds where he falls like he’s splitting apart on an atomic level, until he comes with a rib-rattling groan, spurting warmth up his stomach and chest. Cas fucks him through it until he follows shortly after, clutching Dean close to him and kissing his eyelids and forehead and hair, telling him how wonderful he is, how amazing. Dean doesn’t realize he’s crying until Cas’s thumbs are swiping the tears away; he tries to hide his face, embarrassed.

“Sorry, I’m not usually this much of a wreck during sex,” he mutters. Instead of responding with words, Cas plucks a flower from the ground, a small pale orange one with a blue stem, and tucks it behind Dean’s ear. He must look like a pixie from Faeryphius.

“There,” Cas says with a smile.

Dean feels his cheeks burning but he laughs anyway, because Cas is such a dork. The expression on his face helps, completely adoring with a smirk tugging the corner of his mouth.  

They get dressed eventually. Not that Dean really wants to, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get his fill of seeing the muscles move under Cas’s tanned skin, but it’s cold and the drying sweat and spunk on their skin isn’t helping.

“So,” Dean says when they’ve warm again and curled up together in the flowers, waiting for the sun to rise, “just you, me, and Baby for a while. Whatcha wanna do?”

Cas hums, sleepy and content. “What do _you_ want to do?” he asks. “You’re always thinking about other people.”

It would be easy for Dean to get defensive, to bristle and declare that he _likes_ making other people happy, but he pushes that instinct down. He knows Cas is right; maybe it is time to put himself first for a change. He gets the impression that with Cas by his side and the whole universe at their fingertips, he can’t really go wrong.

“I just wanna be with you,” he admits, “I haven’t really thought about anything else.”

“Just consider it.” Cas kisses his hair. “We’ve got time.”

Dean curls in closer. “Yeah,” he agrees, just as the sun peeks over the horizon, bathing them in pale greens and blues and golds. “We got time.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Come find me on [tumblr](http://casfallsinlove.tumblr.com).


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